


Stopping By The Moors On A Rainy Evening

by GeekishChic



Series: The Odd Coupling [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:39:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9860780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekishChic/pseuds/GeekishChic
Summary: Dr. Mortimer is certain Henry has told her about all of his friends, and he had... except for one.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stardiva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stardiva/gifts).



Pale, moon-lit skin was made even more pasty with the addition of the halogen street lamps added to the perimeter of the house. The illumination was reflected in the tiny dollops of sweat that had sprung up. They not only magnified the light, but his smattering of faded freckles, the crinkled worry of his brow. They mixed with the tears on his face, falling from cloyingly blue eyes tightly squeezed shut against nocturnal terrors, not knowing he only held them in that way. James Moriarty knew a thing or three about nightmares, and he'd gathered enough information about this man, this Henry Knight, to be able to tell exactly which of his main bad dreams he was currently experiencing. There were also details on how exactly to maim or kill him if it ever came down to it. That was, however, a very low possibility as there wouldn't be enough entertainment in it to justify the actions. Henry's doe-eyed, malleable trust alone would take all the amusement out of it. Even if he committed suicide, it would only be slightly more interesting. No, Moriarty had other plans, but he had to first confirm that this particular pawn would be useful in the long game.

 

Henry was an alright shag; fit and sort of bumbling in a way most would find endearing. He was also vocal, which Jim very much relished. The man fancied himself not so easily coerced, but more and more in their short 'relationship', Henry found himself restrained and at the business end of a well-placed strike, thoroughly enjoying himself despite earlier protests against the practice. Mostly, with respect to the whole relationship bit, Moriarty used him as a receptacle, into which he was able to exorcise some of his baser emotional needs. He would pour any ounce of sentimentality he found in the darkest recesses of his so-called heart into Henry during his needier moments, therefore simultaneously keeping the man convinced of his adoration, retaining his ruse, and ridding himself of useless feelings. 

 

Henry's breathing and whimpering changed ever so slightly, indicating he was about to awaken. Moriarty had a choice at this point. He could feign returning from the loo, turning on the en-suite light just so he could flush the toilet and turn it off again before returning just in time to catch a predictably suddenly upright, shouting, then sobbing Henry. Or he could go to him now and comfort him before he even opened his eyes. It would sometimes lead to sex, but mostly it led to giving him another few hours peace in which he could conduct his ever-present business. He rarely slept and had a few texts to make. There was something on in China for which a few heads would roll. Literally. Quiet it was, then.

 

He climbed into the bed, the memory foam bending to his form without even moving the fitful other man. Henry had kicked off the covers, exposing his sparsely haired torso and thin, deep blue pyjama bottoms. Patches of sweat insured they stuck to every prominent bulge and curve of his body, the cooling air across his sweat spattered torso tightening his nipples, and his heaving chest causing the whole scene to virtually shimmer. The tableau prompted James to slightly alter his plan. He was nothing if not... changeable. China could wait a little longer.

 

He stared down into the erratic face, taking in any little difference between that moment and when he first came face to face with Henry Knight on a rainy evening nearly a month and a half before. When awake, it was much more bright and relaxed. But then, regular mind-blowing(if he did say so himself)sex did that for most people. There were traces of that slight relief even now, as he struggled with his non-conscious demons. Very lightly, so as not to prematurely wake him, James inhaled, dragging the very tip of his nose over the rather high cheekbone, one that put him in mind of another marble-skinned, black-haired man to whom he definitely wouldn't mind doing the same. He then ran his tongue along the same path, the tang of fear palpable and rather delicious. Finally, he slipped his proverbial mask on, making it more difficult for him to breathe, maybe, but essential in the panto that was whom Henry had come to know as Richard Brook.

 

"Henry," he called lightly, pressing his lips to the lobe of a prominent ear. "Wake up, love. You're having another nightmare." He trailed deft fingers over Henry's chest, caresses and kisses becoming more wide spread and insistent by tiny increments as he manually prepared himself. Henry was slowly calming in some areas and becoming excited in others more essential to James's intentions. He was careful not to pin him down, as that would worsen the sleep-induced mirages. He knew just where to apply pressure to garner the reaction he wanted. 

 

"Richard?" came the response, timidly and pathetically hopeful.

 

"Of course, darling. Who else would it be?" Henry's eyes cracked open, silvered by the light, then closed once more as he feverishly kissed back before he allowed himself to be ridden until he was spattered in the Irishman's emissions. When in this sort of fugue state, Henry would demonstrate that he actually had a very small amount of coarseness to him when he was topping. He would grip hard enough to bruise and not hold back his thrusts. Every so often, as he was lucky enough to experience that night, Moriarty would find himself face down, being taken mercilessly, marked significantly during Henry's peak and launched into a second orgasm as Henry took his first, albeit significant one. 

 

The sappy morning apologies made Moriarty want to vomit. Henry was always nearly in tears when the events of a night such as the one they had before came to light. He himself never apologised for the marks he put on Henry, but then, it was understood that such was the nature of their play when that happened. Henry had no reason to know that he was experiencing James Moriarty at those times, despite the fact that he insisted on being called 'Jim' instead of the usual 'Master'. Richard would however accept the contrition with a kiss and a pleasant yet playful look, citing that he wasn't at all put off by it, that perhaps they could experiment with it more at another time. They never would, he knew, because they'd tried once and, when his faculties were about, that rather unhinged bit of Henry was securely locked away from his consciousness. Citing that his actions were in order to comfort, James would take over Master duties so that he could punish Henry for getting his hopes up. He would wonder whether or not it was going to be worth it to train him properly.

 

"You have another therapy session today, don't you love?" Richard asked as he removed the toasted bread from the appliance in order to slather it with preserves. Henry's job was the coffee. It was their 'thing', a holdover from when they first met. Proper sentimental tripe.

 

"Hm? Oh! Yes. Doctor Mortimer is very pleased with my sudden progress." Henry slipped his arms around the waist of the shorter man and planted a kiss over one of the purpling marks on the side of his neck. Moriarty subtly pressed into his mouth harder so that the slight ache tingled pleasurably throughout his body. Henry's jumper was cashmere and a deep blue that made his eyes pop. It was stimulating against what little skin was bared in the chill of early morning on the moors. "It's all down to you, you know." 

 

"Yet you haven't told her about me." He made sure there was disappointment present in his tone, even though he didn't really want anyone knowing he was there anyway. The way he played it, however, kept Henry from doing so on a subconscious level.

 

"You haven't been here very long," Henry said, sighing into his neck. "I'd like to keep you to myself for at least a little longer." Richard craned his head back to receive a proper kiss, which turned into an extended snog that saw their toast cold and almost ended up back in bed for one of their more tender love-making sessions. Henry would talk softly to him between kisses about how, if he was honest, he wasn't completely sure he was real, how his father always said that if something seemed too good to be true, it probably was. He had to work out whether or not Richard Brook truly existed. Richard pouted appropriately and sighed, resigned to his obscurity for the time being. Moriarty couldn't handle comfort sex right now and quickly steered everything back toward toast and coffee.

 

 

By the time he heard Henry's car coming up the long, gritty drive, James had taken a long, hot bath, shaved his face clean, and, along with the perfect wine, had a piping hot gourmet-style meal waiting. He'd also donated to several charities, a third of which were not actually money-laundering operations(the other two thirds only partially so), ordered three assassinations, two well-timed muggings, and the torture of some street rat whom he knew was holding back information about what the brothers Holmes had been up to with Irene Adler. Because it damn sure wasn't the threesome he confessed to. What was it with peoples' loyalty to Sherlock Holmes?

 

Henry was was excitedly calling for Richard before he even got fully in the door. He was heard throwing his keys, wallet, and phone down in their usual area, though James could tell he'd missed the bowl with the keys. James closed his eyes to steel himself with a deep breath, so that Richard could greet his gracious host properly.

 

"It smells lovely," Henry commented. "You're spoiling me, I hope you know."

 

"You've allowed me to stay here long past what a usual person would. I have to earn my keep somehow." He accompanied that statement with a rather lascivious wink that caused Henry to blush a bit and grin like a madman. "Now! Sit yourself down before it gets cold." Richard poured the wine and sat to his right as Henry took his rightful place at the head of his table. "You came in as if you had news."

 

"Yes! I had a breakthrough with Dr. Mortimer. Oh... oh this is positively sinful. What's this? Mole sauce?"

 

"Yes. I learned how to do it in Mexico." That had been a lovely little village. Too bad it was now a crater in the desert. He couldn't risk the trail a particularly astute Mycroft Homes had caught of him somewhere in the American Southwest as he supervised a few new aspects of his interests there. "So what new and exciting thing have you learned about yourself, then?" With a few swipes and taps of his phone screen, classical music filled the empty spaces of their conversation without overwhelming it.

 

"Whilst I was under," it was rather cute how he thought hypno-therapy actually did him any good, "I remembered a word. Hound. I remember the word Hound. All uppercase letters. Actually, it doesn't seem like as big a deal when I say it out loud, seeing as my nightmares are always about that demon dog that... that killed... my father, but it's... it's something. Right? I mean, to not have remembered it before now means something's different, doesn't it?" The man was so hopeful, he looked something of a hound himself, though an infant one, floppy-eared and begging for approval. It was fairly pitiful, really. However, in the interest of not discounting the source, something in Moriarty's mind latched on to it. He couldn't quite determine what it was about the particular word, but something...

 

"Of course it does, my dear."

 

"Good! Brilliant!" Henry happily yet somehow still politely scarfed down the early supper, pausing only to sip wine and answer the few questions Richard had for him regarding the 'broken down' vehicle which apparently needed a very expensive, very rare part and was the catalyst for their coupling. They finished with a love few fingers of an expensive single malt as they lounged on the sofa before a large, cheerful fire. James always liked to be the little spoon, shielded from the harshest of potential outside attack. He lay back between Henry's strong thighs, the fingers of their right hands woven together as they lay across James's chest. Plugged in so as not to run the battery down, his phone had been moved into the area to continue its soothing soundtrack. If Henry survived, which was the most likely(and favourable)outcome, James would have to leave himself an emotional opening, in order to be able to legitimately return whenever he wished. Despite the somewhat repugnant domesticity of the situation, it was rather ideal as a safe house, Henry a good cover. However, on the small chance he didn't outlive the arrangement, Moriarty would just buy the estate through one of his many investments.

 

"I would go and sign the part ordering paperwork now, I know exactly where the mechanic is at the moment, but I'm too comfortable," Richard sighed sipping the amber liquid slowly and allowing it to trickle down his throat so slowly, that the sting was completely gone by the time he'd swallowed it all.

 

"I know just what you mean." Henry kissed his temple. "I'll just have them delivered. That way we can spend the day in bed, for the most part."

 

"That sounds splendid." Richard brought the back of the hand Henry was holding to his mouth for a brief, sloppily playful kiss. He felt the man behind him chuckled deep in his chest against which he leaned. Moriarty had a few ideas he wanted to see if Henry was ready for in the bedroom.

 

"I, uh..." Why did that statement sound alarm bells in his head so suddenly?

 

"What?" 

 

"I sort of... told her... about you. About us." Moriarty bolted upright so quickly he nearly knocked the last of Henry's whiskey out of his hand, as Henry's survival probability percentage plummeted suddenly.

 

"What?!" Henry withdrew the leg that had been along the back cushions of the sofa when they were so comfortable, and sat forward.

 

"I thought you'd be pleased," he said apologetically, voice raising an octave, as it did when stressed. "Every time I see her, you always mention it as if..."

 

"What _exactly_  did you tell her?"

 

"Nothing much, actually. Just that I'd met someone. That I spend all day and almost all night talking to him or texting him. I didn't say anything about you actually being here. Even I know she'd think that was too sudden and I can't bear her trying to ... trying to talk me out of... you. I'm sorry." James tossed back the rest of his drink and held it in his mouth as he shut his eyes and breathed out as slowly as possible, breath only interrupted by tiny swallows. When he opened his eyes again, Henry was staring at him, oceanic eyes wide and wild with fear that he may have inadvertently offended. Finally Richard gave him his most comforting smile.

 

"No, _I'm_  sorry, love. It's fine."

 

"Are you sure?"

 

"Yes! Yes, it's all fine." He kissed the shapely, not quite believing mouth and offered the second drink they both needed.

 

Moriarty knew that, in order to set all aspects of everything up properly, he'd need to be gentle with his rather fragile toy at first; open him up a bit more to suggestion. So he dug deep, searching for some crumb of the sentiment that seemed to keep cropping up like poisonous mushrooms within the moist, black cracks of his soul and used it to make temperate love to Henry, swallowing his high pitched cries and making sure he was thoroughly spent and totally relaxed.

 

Everything began to come together nicely at three a.m. The music he'd added as part of the atmosphere switched seamlessly to the specially prepared track. It was a long, smooth piece, light and soothing. It was of his own composition, the player a beautiful Arab woman he'd sampled in a brothel he owned in the roundabout fashion he did these things. In a South London studio, he mixed in the key element. Far away keening howls and growling snuffles that began sounding as if they were in the distance, growing louder, the source of the noises distinctly angry. And getting closer.

 

Right on cue, Henry's nightmares started, subtly at first. Just the twitch of a closed eye here and slight head movement there at first. They increased in fervor as the creature grew nearer and, as its howl reached its last crescendo, Henry sat upright with a vocalization halfway between a scream and a sob. Moriarty counted to three before donning his Richard mask and sitting up next him, feigning a sleep-mussed voice. 

 

"Did you not hear that?" Henry shouted.

 

"No, love. I didn't hear anything. You're alright. Hush, now." He caressed and cajoled Henry down to a semi-calm state before recommending tea or a nice stroll to clear his head a bit. He knew that by phrasing the suggestions a certain way, Henry would consider having him fetch the tea or accompanying him on his walk an unnecessary disruption of his comfort. If James had actually wanted to get him tea for whatever reason, he would have just stated his intentions and been off to fulfill them. He confirmed by offering the option of his tea and company, but, as predicted, Henry refused, citing he would be fine and his stomach couldn't yet handle anything in it just now. He yanked jeans and a jumper over his rather lovely nudity, kissed Richard soundly and exited. "Don't forget your gun!" Moriarty called out in reminder.

 

"Right," Came the reply, followed by the muffled metallic clinks and clicks indicative of Henry checking the magazine of his .45. It was a sound James very much enjoyed.

 

Moriarty wandered the house, making tea with one hand and taking care of business with the other as he danced around to a Bowie playlist. Henry's was the first house to get the post as it was the farthest away and so was where they started delivery. Minutes later, the morning paper thumping against the front door to land in place was James's signal to begin making fresh tea, as, if Henry wanted coffee, he'd want to make it for them himself. He retrieved both the post and the paper, confirming that his vehicle was ready to go in a hastily written note. He then opened the newspaper and was pleased to find it collaborated with him in its contents. Upon hearing Henry's pronounced saunter approaching(a bit rushed), Moriarty left the paper open to the appropriate page in front of Henry's preferred stool and switched both Richard and the kettle back on so that it boiled a little again as the owner of the home came in the door. His notable ears and button nose were red with cold and his hands were like ice as he slipped them around Richard's waist clad only in one of Henry's tee shirts with immediate apologies. It was fine, however. James always ran rather hot. Interestingly enough, he was a bit out of breath as he had clearly been running, slowing himself as soon as he got close to home.

 

"Alright, love?" Richard asked him, knowing something was up.

 

"Mm," came the noncommittal reply, muffled in the crook of his neck. Richard pat his arm and bade him sit himself down. He served the two of them at the kitchen bar and took the stool to his right. Henry ran pale fingers through dark hair and sighed.

 

"You sure?"

 

"Yes I... think so. It's a bit clearer. Something is definitely out there, I'm just... not quite sure what. I did see something... I don't know. It's a bit mad."

 

"You can tell me, Henry. I won't take the piss." Henry gave him a long, hard look, as if examining every aspect of him to make sure this was true. Richard gave him his most comforting smile, pat his hand and lightly kissed his jaw, just below his ear.

 

"It was... They were footprints. Gigantic hound footprints. Like the word I remembered. Perhaps it was a warning or... "

 

"I see..."

 

"See, I _knew_  you'd-"

 

"No. Henry, no. Sorry. Sorry, alright? It's just that... it's quite the mystery, isn't it?" He ran his hand back and forth along Henry's muscled shoulders, still a bit hunched out of stress.

 

"That it is." They sat for a moment in calculated quiet before Richard spoke again, laying the note over the paper opened to the article which pictured a profile view of man with a thick greatcoat collar turned up so one could only see sharp cheek bones, striking eyes, and dark curls stuffed under a deerstalker with the flaps pinned up. He slid them over in front of Henry and took another refreshing sip of his tea as the other man took it up.

 

"Good news! Ill be out of your hair by early this afternoon. Turns out they didn't need the part they thought they did." Henry's face fell, and he opened his mouth as if to answer, but then just blew out a forlorn breath and looked away with a little nod. Moriarty had made sure to play the whole thing as something casual, counting on Henry to begin to fall in love as his continued link with the place. 

 

"Should... should save me a pound or two then, eh?" James could almost see the lump in Henry's throat as he attempted to swallow it with a sip of tea. The other man glanced at him, eyes watery and Moriarty was disgusted, barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes. He translated that into Richard kissing him for all he was worth. "But seriously," Henry said, leaning his forehead against Richard's, "thank you for this. For everything."

 

"I should be thanking you. You're the one that let some strange bloke into his house for weeks on end. You've a good heart, Henry. Now! enough of this depressing shite. Fancy some breakfast? I'll cook." 

 

"That would be lovely." With another sweet kiss, Richard began to slowly pull utensils and ingredients from the cupboards and fridge. He was giving Henry time for his despondent eyes to fall on the appropriate section of the paper. With a little patience, it happened. "Richard?"

 

"Mm?" 

 

"Have you ever heard of a bloke called... Sherlock Holmes?" Moriarty smirked to himself with his back to Henry.

 

"Who hasn't, love?"


End file.
